Remembering Tomorrow
by BallinBlonde21
Summary: Clary's two-year marriage ended rather abruptly. This story follows her as she struggles to get back on her feet, to forget about all the men in her life that have left her and abused her. As fate has it, she meets a boy with similar experiences. I changed the title. Deal with it! :) I DON'T OWN TMI...boo hoo for me...I'd be rich :( and I'd also own Jace ;)
1. Intervention

_Mmmmkay, lovelies. Due to school break, basketball break, and a boyfriend completely absorbed in his new toys (race sled and PS4) I've had a lot of time to think. I know...me...thinking...shocker! Anyways...New story! And btw you're at 19 reviews for Perfect Life Perfect Spike...C'MON PEOPLE! :) Back to the matter at hand, this was an idea I had bouncing around in my head so I decided to give it a shot. No idea where it's headed, and it starts out kind of fast, but not really. The first part is kind of a flashback...you'll see. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and maybe I'll have the second chapter up tonight! :)_

_Chapter Song:_

_Wasting All These Tears by Cassadee Pope_

* * *

"Love you, Clare-bear," he'd told her that day, dropping a chaste kiss on the tip of her freckled nose. His dark eyes, though, they told another story. They were dark, hooded, anxious, and most of all, deceitful. She forced a sweet smile onto her face as she told him goodbye, watching him push through the glass door of her art store, the bell dinging at his exit. As it shut behind him, she pushed her face up against the glass, watching the back of his tailored suit disappear into a taxicab. She waved. He didn't see her.

Throwing on her coat and mittens, she stepped out into the New York winter, securely locking her little store behind her before hailing her own taxi. "The corner of Eighth and Broadway, please," she said clearly, though her insides were shaking. This was the address he had programmed into his phone, along with a cell phone number that he called nearly every day. Her eyes were rimmed in tears she knew wouldn't fall, her mouth quivering with sobs that she'd never let escape. She'd known for months, and she'd be damned if Sebastian Verlac would see her cry over him. Buckling her seatbelt, she rested her head against the seat and let her body sway with the motion of the driver weaving in and out of the New York traffic.

It was a quick drive, no more than ten minutes, surprisingly. "Thank you," she said tersely as she quickly paid the driver. He scoffed at her tip and sped off just as she stepped out. She barely noticed. Her eyes were trained on her husband, who was currently being buzzed into a dingy apartment complex. She set her jaw, red dots spotting her vision as she stomped down the street, not bothering to apologize to the people she accidentally bumped into. That bastard! He'd spent the past three months away from home on "business trips," "working overtime," or "hanging with his work buddies." No wonder she'd been paying their rent from her painting sales. Her good-for-nothing husband wasn't a business man. He wasn't renowned for his ideas and work ethic. He was better known for his mattress skills.

"Sebastian," she growled into the call box, pushing the button that he'd pressed moments earlier, "I know you are up there." She released the button but heard only silence. "It's over, Sebastian Verlac. Or better yet….It never _was_." She turned on her heel, hearing someone flying down the steps behind her.

"Clare-bear!" Seb cried out, encircling her waist with his once strong, steady arms. Now they seemed constricting, harsh. Clary shook her head and tugged herself free, turning to face him. Her face was set, no sadness or anger showed in her features. Her face was devoid of anything that could suggest the mood she was in.

"Who was it?" she asked in an even tone, staring steadily into his eyes, though his refused to make contact. His mouth twitched before pressing into a thin line. "Who was it?!" She repeated a little louder, drawing the attention of a few bystanders.

"A-Aline Penhallow." Clary made a sound of surprise, her face contorting in disgust.

"Isn't she your _cousin_?" Sebastian merely shrugged, the façade of remorse falling from his face as Clary shook her head at him. "You stay away from me, Sebastian Verlac. I guess I never really knew you. And now I never want to." With that, she walked quickly away, her head held high as she stuffed her wedding ring deep into her coat pocket and disappeared into the nearest pub. At the bar, she dropped her head into her hands and drowned her disappointment in a tall mug of Budweiser.

That was six months ago. Six months since Sebastian showed up at the doorstep of the apartment they shared, balloons in one hand and flowers in the other. Six months since Sebastian admitted he was cheating since the day they said their vows. Six months since he said she was worthless, that all she was to him was dollar signs. Six months…and she couldn't get the haunting image of the emotionless pits where his eyes should have been, the sound of his voice telling her that she would never be anything and that no one could ever love her. Six months since she'd painted a picture. Six months since she'd actually lived.

Clary rolled out of bed and poured herself a glass of scotch, sinking into the worn chairs she'd fixed and stained with the help of Sebastian, overlooking the sidewalk where they'd shared their first kiss at the restaurant where they had their first date. If she turned her head left, she could see down the hallway and into her bedroom, catching a glimpse of the corner of the bed where she'd given herself to him, and he'd greedily taken her, as he had with several other women every day. The liquor burned in her throat, and ger mouth tasted foul, her vision blurry as she poured her drink down the sink. A mirror would reveal her blood-shot eyes with heavy purple bags beneath them. It would show the unkempt red hair that Sebastian had once called beautiful, that her customers had often admired. It would show the reflection of a girl, lost, confused, lonely. She'd stopped looking in her mirrors month ago, found it was easier not knowing what she looked like.

"Clary, open up, or I swear I will smash this door!" She sighed, recognizing her neighbor's voice instantly. Isabelle probably would break in, but no punishment would be administered to her since her wealthy parents owned the place. _The Institute_, they called it. It was originally meant to house students pursuing masters degrees, but neither Clary nor Isabelle were still in school. They took business wherever they could find it.

"It's open," she warbled, wincing at the sound of her voice. She knew her breath smelled of alcohol and that her floors were more than disgusting, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. She was wearing one of Sebastian's old t-shirts. It hung past her knees and was about eight sizes too big. But it smelled like him, and that's all that mattered. She heard the door creak but didn't turn to see Izzy's disgusted face as she passed through the threshold. She also didn't care to see the disappointment in her friend's eyes.

She heard stilettos clicking against the wood, and suddenly her chin was being jerked around, Isabelle's scrutinizing black eyes merely inches from hers. They were dark, like Sebastian's (she really needed to stop comparing everything to him), but where his were hard, hers had a sort of softness to them…sometimes. Now, for example, was not one of those times. "Alright, Clarissa Adele Fairchild. I am hosting an intervention." Isabelle, though tall and slender, was surprisingly strong. She dragged Clary from her chair and pulled her into the bathroom, pushing her down in the bathtub and cranking up the hot water.

"Hey!" Clary squealed, attempting to stand up, though Izzy's hands kept her firmly in place. "I'm still wearing my clothes!"

"Good," Isabelle retorted quickly, turning on the showerhead and soaking Clary completely. "They could really use a good washing." She squeezed soap in her hands and began massaging it into Clary's greasy hair, causing a blush to rise in her cheeks.

"Good Lord, Isabelle. I am not a child! I am twenty-four years old for Pete's sake! I can take a shower by myself!"

"Really, Clary? Because you could have fooled me." She stared her friend down for a minute before dropping her gaze to the floor. She couldn't actually remember the last time she'd showered. "My point exactly," she replied to Clary's silence, continuing to scrub her friend's head clean. "You're lucky I'm not one of those friends that stays for the good and ditches for the bad. Like honestly, Clary. You stink." Clary felt tears sting her eyes as reality hit her like a tsunami. She was a mess. Behind on rent, on the boarder of alcoholism, completely ignoring personal hygiene—her life was in ruins. "Seriously, Clary? Why are you even still wearing _his_ shirt." She glanced down at the gray shirt that now clung to her limp frame. It was one of his football shirts from high school. They'd been a typical high school love story. He was the quarterback. She was a cheerleader. They were prom king and queen, both continued on to and graduated from NYU. The t-shirt had his name on the back, and it made her feel like she was still his. Without warning, Isabelle stripped it off her, exposing Clary's skin to the cold bathroom air.

"Stop!" she screamed, covering her body with her hands.

"Oh, puh-lease, Clary. Don't get all shy on me now. Remember that time we went skinny dipping in Hudson. You definitely weren't shy then!"

"Shut up!" Clary yelled, her cheeks flaming bright red, forcing a laugh out of Isabelle.

"You were flaunting everything you had to St. Xavier's entire student body!"

"I said, 'Shut up!' I can finish this shower on my own."

"Please do." Izzy said with backing out of the bathroom with a glint of humor in her eye. From the hallway she added, "Although I'm certain I could find a few boys willing to join you." Clary reached over and slammed the door in Izzy's face, cutting off the rest of whatever she intended to say. She stood up and finished rinsing out the strawberry shampoo, putting conditioner into her curls. She used her green loofa to lather herself in Bath and Body Works body wash, before rinsing off one more time in the now freezing water and wrapping herself in a towel. She picked up her toothbrush and began scrubbing at her dirty teeth, washing away the rancid breath she'd had for days. Her eyes still avoided the mirror poised above the faucet.

"I'm done, Izzy!" she hollered, not bothering to open the door. In typical Isabelle fashion, she burst through the door in an excited chatter and shoved Clary onto the toilet, immediately working a brush through Clary's curls.

"Doesn't that feel better, Clary?" She couldn't help but agree with Iz. It was better. She smelled better. Her eyes were clearer. Her mind was brighter. She nodded slowly as she felt her hair being weaved into an intricate braid. She looked across the floor at the wadded up shirt lying in a puddle of filth on the floor. Her stomach still felt like a lead weight. He heart still thumped hollowly in her chest, but she knew that she somehow had to get up and move on. She'd done it before, but that's something she never talked about, even thought about. She pushed away those memories with a shudder and focused on keeping her tears of failure at bay. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she bit down on the fingernails that were already chewed to the nub.

She felt skilled fingers working over her scalp and heard her friend's steady breaths of concentration. "Hey, Iz?"

"Mmmm?" she replied around a mouthful of bobby pins.

"Thank you for the intervention." Clary knew that she wasn't healed and that she wasn't even close to being better, but it was still nice to know that somebody cared, that somebody didn't stop at her answering machine, that somebody wasn't going to give up on her. She felt Isabelle's breath tickle her hair as she laughed. Clary didn't need to see Isabelle's wicked smile to know it was there.

"Oh, it's not over yet."

* * *

_Hmmm...what is in Izzy's devious mind? Drop me a review to tell me what you think! :)_


	2. Pandemonium

_Chapter TWO! :) Yay! I'm so tired, so if this doesn't make sense...my apologies. I did have basketball practice today :( and a birthday party :) but not my own :( Anyways, I hope that this **does** make sense and that you enjoy it! So without further rambling...here it is._

* * *

"Come on, Clary!" Izzy cheered, stretching out the string of people holding hands made from Seb's t-shirt and a pair of scissors. "This is fun!" She'd already concocted several middle finger shapes and parts of the anatomy a little south of the middle finger, but similar in shape. She'd dumped his the rest of his belongings out the window and into the dumpster below after texting him "Incest is best," and deleting and blocking his number in Clary's phone. Clary couldn't bring herself to pick up a pair of scissors and ruin something that had once belonged to someone she loved. She preferred to watch Izzy's maid bustle about the apartment, scrubbing away the six months of filth that Clary had neglected.

"Don' you think this is a tad…overboard?" she inquired, silently hoping that Izzy would agree, and she could save at least one shirt to sleep with at night. Her hopes were crushed when Isabelle simply began reducing the collection of t-shirts into a collection of ribbons.

"This isn't," she replied with a snip of her scissors. "Or this." Another snip. "Or this. Or this. Or this!" She had a grin on her lips as she finished slicing the last one. She sighed, satisfied. "All done." Clary scurried to collect a few of the scraps and sneak them into a drawer, but Isabelle knew her plans and kept her away. "Now, Clary," she said, looking down her nose at the redhead. She looked more like a psychiatrist than a budding fashion designer. "The first step to moving on is letting go." With a sunken heart, she watched the t-shirt scraps go fluttering in the wind, joining the rest of Sebastian's things on their way to the landfill. Brushing off her hands, Isabelle returned her gaze to Clary, who just then realized that her friend was a pro at breakups. "Alright. What's next?" she asked more to herself than to Clary. Her face lit up, and she snapped her fingers, causing Clary to jump. Loud noises tended to do that. "Where's your wedding ring?" Clary's mind flashed to its hiding place in the corner of her underwear drawer, along with Sebastian's cologne and picture.

"I sold it at a pawn shop already." She couldn't meet Isabelle's eyes as she lied, but her voice was firm enough that maybe she would believe her.

"Okay!" she replied cheerfully. "So you _have_ made some progress on your own." Clary nodded, failing at keeping the red out of her cheeks. Luckily, Isabelle just attributed the blush to the compliment and strode down the hallway into the now cleaned and organized kitchen. "Then we can move onto the final part of this little intervention." She waggled her eyebrows, and Clary suddenly realized that the extravagant hairdo and makeover were not simply for Izzy's entertainment. Oh no…Izzy had a plan. She always had a plan.

"What are we doing, Izzy?" she asked cautiously, remembering every situation Isabelle has dragged her into, causing mayhem nearly every time.

"Don't you worry your little butt, Clary. Just go into your bedroom like a nice little girl and slip into something a little naughty." Clary blanched at the thought. Isabelle loved being single and dressed like it. Her hair was jet-black and hung to her waist in thick, glossy strands. Her eyes were always done in dark, smoky shadow, giving their dark depths an air of mystery. Her curves were hugged tightly by an electric blue cocktail dress, and black stilettos were strapped to her feet. Clary couldn't picture herself dressed as scandalously as that. She started coughing of embarrassment at the mere thought of it. "Oh, come oooonnnn, Clary. Quit acting so…junior high!" She was parading up and down the hallway, one hand on her hip and the other waving a pair of Sebastian's boxer shorts like a flag.

Grumbling, Clary shoved past her friend, wondering what she could find in her closet that was even on the boarder of _naughty_. She rubbed her temples and opened the sliding glass doors, peering in at the paint smeared fabrics that built her wardrobe. She pushed them aside, squeezing herself to the very back where she'd hidden the few dresses that her mother and Izzy had purchased for her. Emerging triumphant, she carefully set a red dress on her bed and went in search of accessories to match.

Clary was not fashion protégé, but she felt pretty excited at what she'd been able to put together. The dress brushed about mid thigh, lacing up her torso with black corset ties. It was trimmed in black lace, and she'd paired black teardrop earrings and flats with it. She felt pretty naughty. She stepped out of her bedroom and was immediately bombarded with oohs and ahhs from Isabelle, who for once was impressed with the fact that Clary had successfully dressed herself. "Our little Clary is growing up!" she said with a quivering lip. The maid rolled her eyes and continued to dust the shelves. Izzy's delicate fingers with perfectly manicured nails encircled Clary's wrist. "Alright, girl! Let this night begin!" She snatched her purse from the table, and Clary grabbed hers from the hook before being rushed out of her apartment. Barely having the opportunity to lock the door, Clary was struggling to keep up with Izzy, who was currently sprinting down the staircase in her dangerously high stilettos.

At the bottom, between puffs of breath, Clary managed to squeak, "Where…are we…going?" A smile stretched across Izzy's face as she zapped a text message to one of her gazillion contacts.

"We," she said, pausing for dramatic effect, "are going to meet boys!" She squealed and did a little dance as Simon appeared at the entrance to the apartment complex.

"Si?" Clary asked, her heart swelling at the sight of her friend. She'd blown him off ever since the Seb thing, and she weight of that began to sink in as she looked him up and down.

"Wow…um, Clary…you look…good," he coughed and stuttered, but soon a smile appeared on his face. "Hey, Clare," he added smoothly, as if she hadn't ignored his existence for half a year. And, man, what a half of a year could do. Simon's disheveled hair as combed and styled, his glasses missing from their usual perch on the tip of his nose. His brown eyes, she could now see, were framed with thick black lashes. He'd filled out, a few muscles showing beneath one of his trademark gamer tees. It was nice to see him again.

"You, too, Si," she replied. He did look good, in a Simon way. She could never see him as more than a friend. She tore her gaze away from his and settled on Isabelle's eyes, noticing the mischievous glint in them. "So, uh, Iz…where are we going exactly?"

"To a strip club!" she clapped her hands as a violent blush crept up Clary's pale cheeks. "And Simon's coming with us!" Simon blanched as their gazes locked, and Clary could see he was just about as excited to go as she was.

"Um, Iz, I don't think the kind of guys we want to meet go to strip clubs…" Izzy rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Clary. We aren't going to a gentleman's club. We are going to watch _men _strip!" Simon gagged loudly, and Clary couldn't tell if it was exaggerated or real.

"What?!" he choked out.

"You're….you're not gay?" Isabelle asked, looking slightly shocked. Simon's eyes widened before a look of hurt settled on his face.

"NO!" Isabelle scratched her head, laughing awkwardly and replying with a curt _oh_.

"Yeah, Iz. And I don't think we'll be meeting any men while other men are stripping. It's really not a straight guy thing…you know?" Isabelle nodded, furrowing her eyebrows together a little.

"Alright," she broke the awkward silence after a moment, her excitement returning instantly. "There's this new club I've been _dying_ to try out. We can go there." Without waiting for the replies of her friends, she stepped onto the street and waved down a taxi. The others, as she expected, followed and piled in with her. "Get ready for the night of your lives."

Simon groaned and threw his head back on the rest. "I hope this doesn't turn out like the hangover." He glanced at Isabelle out of his peripherals before stage-whispering to Clary, "But if it does…I vote we leave _her_ locked on the roof!"

Isabelle scoffed. "I _heard_ that, gay boy!" Simon whined about his sexuality-in-question while Clary toned everything out. In her mind, she was focused on thoughts of Sebastian. No matter how bad the things were he said, she still loved him, and she couldn't understand why. He'd hurt her, told her he never loved her, but the part of Clary that seeks only good in people kept telling her that maybe Sebastian was just as hurt and confused as she was, and that maybe he didn't mean what he said and would come gallivanting back to her like a knight in shining armor. She sighed dreamily, imagining Sebastian appearing outside her window, sitting proudly atop a white mustang, holding dozens and dozens of roses he'd grown himself—

"Earth to Clary!" Isabelle said, snapping her fingers in front of Clary's nose. "We've arrived." Startled, Clary jumped and squeaked, drawing a laugh from a few people outside the club. "Honestly, girl," Isabelle said with a teasing grin, "you're going to get us kicked out before we even get in" She shook her head to clear it_. Right. Thoughts of Sebastian are wrong. Bad, Clary._

"Oh, shut up," Clary replied, stepping out of the car and onto the curb. Isabelle fussed with her hair before leading the troop to the line.

"Alright, people. Just look hot, and we shouldn't have a problem getting in." She paused. "Simon?"

"Hmm?" He said with puckered lips and squinted eyes.

"What on God's green earth are you doing?" He put a hand to his chest, mocking offence.

"That is my _hot_ face!" Isabelle mumbled something about him looking constipated while Simon winked at Clary. If anyone could keep up with Isabelle's insulting wit, it was Simon. Clary wondered why they hadn't tried dating yet. They would probably make a good couple.

"I.D.'s," the burly bouncer droned as they reached the front of the line. Clary shuffled for hers in her purse while Simon drew his from his wallet. "Head on in," he said, his eyes barely scanning the cards.

"Wow," Isabelle said, slipping her I.D. into her bra. "I'm surprised we got in that easily." Clary could only faintly hear her friend's voice above the beat of the music. The word _Pandemonium_ was written in neon lettering above the dance floor, where black lights and strobe lights illuminated the throng of swaying bodies. Off to the side was a neon bar and some booths, but the majority were pressed up against each other in front of the DJ. With a grin, Isabelle weaved her way into the crowd, disappearing in the middle. Simon, being the old Simon, went up to discuss his band with the DJ, who only seemed semi-interested in having any kind of social contact.

Clary made her way across the room, plopping down onto a bar stool, looking away from a couple making out sloppily in the booth to her right. Their two blond heads seemed to be one as they vacuumed each other's faces. _Disgusting_. She ordered a Cosmo and tipped the bartender, sipping the pink drink slowly through her straw. This club was not her scene. She twirled the straw in the beverage, watching the liquid create a whirlpool. It interested her more than dancing.

"Hey, pretty lady," a deep voice came from beside her, startling Clary and causing her to spill her drink everywhere. "Let me help," the voice said, his hands reaching around with napkins to mop up the mess. _That voice. Those hands…_ Clary gasped, inclining her head toward Sebastian, who was seated beside her. Her heart rate increased two fold. The wedding band she'd picked out for him still adorned his left ring finger. His dark eyes drank her in, satisfied at what they found. Hers did the same, noticing that except for his hair being a little longer, he seemed exactly the same. "How are you, Clare-bear?" he asked politely, ordering another Cosmo to replace the one he'd caused her to spill.

"Good," she replied, trying to keep her voice firm, but it melted. Her mind was telling her that this was wrong, so wrong. But her heart was finally whole again. She smiled, giggling slightly as his fingers tickled up her arm and brushed against her cheek. She felt herself slipping into old habits, her body humming, wanting nothing more than to be near him, to hear him say her name, to kiss his parted lips…

"That good, Clary. I'm happy for you." His eyes trailed down to her neck, where her pulse was. It had been his favorite place to kiss her, nipping lightly at the sensitive pale skin. His seductive eyes slid down lower, looking at the peak of cleavage the dress didn't cover. She suddenly went cold all over, feeling extremely exposed. The possessive way he looked at her was wrong. The sick twist of his lips was wrong. Now, her heart agreed that this was wrong. She grabbed the Cosmo and began to turn away.

"I have to go find my friend," she explained, glancing toward the dance floor. To her surprise, Sebastian nodded.

"Okay, Clary. It was nice to see you again," he said, trying to sound earnest, but Clary heard the falseness in his voice.

She made the irritation evident in her reply. "Yeah…you, too…" She turned her head to search for Izzy, walking quickly away from her ex-husband, but not before he slipped a little pill into her drink.

* * *

_Dun, dun, dun. Don't you worry your little behinds. Our favorite and swoon-worthy golden guy will be making his appearance shortly...probably in the next chapter :) so anyways...what did you think? Am I wasting my time? Or are you sort of enjoying this? REVIEW PLEASE :)_

_All my love_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	3. Awakening

_I typed this with frozen fingers. -50 below wind chill right now. My room is freezing, but bonus...no school! Please forgive any errors. We all know I don't reread these things to get them up faster. Anyways...enjoy! :)_

* * *

Clary woke up with a heavy weight on her stomach, hot breath creeping down her neck from someone breathing in her ear. She hopped up quickly, squeaking in surprise. "What? How's there?" Isabelle asked behind her eye mask, blindly karate chopping the air in front of her. Clary burst into giggles at her friend, who usually was runway-ready but now looked as if she'd tumbled from a garbage truck. Her fingers groggily reached up and tore the mask from her face as she flopped back onto the pillows and draped an arm over her face. "Jeez, Clary. You nearly gave me a heart attack." She sighed and curled herself back under the blankets.

She shook her head at her lazy friend, though a look at the clock revealed that it was just past seven in the morning. Dressed in no more than a flimsy nightgown, Clary wandered out of the bedroom, barely recognizing her own apartment. The dust and the grime that had been there yesterday was completely gone. The dishes were stacked and organized in the spotless cabinets. The carpet had vacuum lines. The filmy layer coating the mirror was gone. Clary's chest swelled with gratitude. She nearly had her life back. She grabbed a packet of coffee and popped the little cup into her Keurig, watching it brew. Coffee had been liquid gold before Sebastian left her. It had been her lifeline, but since then, she'd switched to any bottle of liquor she could get her slim fingers on. She took a gulp while it was still steaming, enjoying the bitter warmth is as it touched her tongue.

She leaned against the counter, looking at the empty spot on the wall where up until yesterday, her wedding photos had been. It was strange, really, how that wall represented her life. It was fresh, ready for something new. It was a blank canvas, a new beginning. She smiled, cracking her toes against the tiles. She was ready for that, ready to make up for the time she'd lost being so silly. How could she have not known before?

Vaguely, she remembered Sebastian with her in the club last night. She remembered him startling her into spilling her drink, remembered him buying her a new one. She recalled the uncomfortable way he stared at her, the wedding ring still on his finger, the repulsive sound of his voice. She grinned at herself, silently complimenting the strength she had to walk away, the freedom she felt as she severed the last string to her life with him.

Her stomach roared in hunger, and Clary sighed, knowing she hadn't shopped for groceries lately. She rummaged through the cupboards, finding half a loaf of bread. After a little searching, she found the new locations of her toaster and untied the bag of bread. As she did so, she noticed a bruised patch on her wrist. She poked it and winced at the surprising tenderness. How could she not remember that bruise?

Curious, she padded quietly to the bathroom, and she striped down to her underwear, assessing the rest of her skin for purple patches. She found several, finger-sized markings along her sides and ribcage, but other than that, she seemed okay. She quickly redressed herself to hide the flaming red markings along her stomach and spine. That was not something she really wanted to think about right then. She returned to her sacred cup of coffee and tried to forget about the nervousness creeping up her spine. Could she remember anything about last night?

Her toast popped, causing her to jump in fright. She shook her head at her foolishness and spread a thin layer of jam across her breakfast. She sat at her table, which had previously been completely useless, covered in papers and art supplies and dirty dishes. She peered out the window and watched her New York home alive with life. Everyone seemed so carefree, so hopeful that Clary couldn't help but smile. She was just like them now, ready for the future, ready to live. She scrubbed her plate and mug in the sink, happy to be able to do simple chores again, happy to have her motivation returned to her.

She slides them into place in her cabinets, slightly too high for her to reach comfortably, and wanders into a place she hadn't gone for months. The room she'd made into her studio. She'd asked the maid to leave that room untouched, and to her surprise, it was. Everything was exactly where she'd left it six months ago. Her half-finished piece rested on the easel with corresponding paints and brushes on the stand beside it. She eyed the image depicting several children building a snowman. It seemed silly to finish this image in the middle of the summer, but she felt that she needed to. It was nearly complete, just the finishing touches needed to be added to the children's faces. She took a breath to calm the nervous energy that was vibrating in her stomach. What if her talent had disappeared? She pushed that thought aside and with shaky finger, picked up a brush. It balanced perfectly in her palm, the weight and shape familiar between her fingertips. And that was all it took. The world around her melted away. It was just her and the painting. She felt her mind relax, her thoughts disperse as her hands took the lead, sweeping excited smiles onto the children's faces, adding contours to their frozen cheeks and rosy noses, giving depth to their joyous eyes.

No more than half an hour later, Clary stepped back, returning to the universe to inspect her work. Satisfied, she rinsed her brush and turned to see Izzy smirking in the doorframe. "Looks like my intervention was successful," she grinned, literally patting herself on the back. Clary shook her head and pushed beside her into her bedroom, tossing on a pair of paint-stained jeans and an equally stained t-shirt. Her knotted her hair up in a bun while Izzy continued to praise herself. "You really are a terrific friend, Isabelle. You should be rewarded. Ooooohhhh, maybe I can take you to the spa today!" Rolling her eyes, Clary wrapped her painting and collected her things, hearing Isabelle's quick footsteps follow her to the door.

"I'm going to my shop," Clary blushed a little at Isabelle's cheerful expression. Isabelle knew that Clary was struggling monetarily and had paid her last few months of rent. Clary knew Izzy would never ask for her money to be returned and just was happy that Clary's life was returning to normal, but Clary silently vowed to repay her friend every cent.

"You have fun, Clary. Text me later how it goes." Clary nodded, following as Isabelle swept out of the apartment in a Broadway-worthy fashion. Locking the door behind her, she dropped her keys into her purse and hitched it up on her shoulder. Today already seemed to be a great day.

She walked the worn path to her store, focusing on nothing but arriving. The painting felt weightless in her arms. So many times she'd carried several finished canvasses the short distance. It was familiar. The door was within few, and her pace increased, excitement bubbling in her stomach. She propped her painting up against the glass of her shop's window and fumbled through her purse for the key. Her fingers grazed a thin slip of paper that she'd never seen before. She removed it and shoved it into her pocket. She found her key at the bottom and slid it into the lock, hearing the bolt release and grant her access to this forgotten sanctuary.

The air of her shop still smelled like vanilla, the scent of the candles she burned along various shelves. She huffed a laugh, realizing it was dustless and organized because Isabelle probably sent a maid to do the dirty work here also. She put her purse and keys behind the counter, flicking on the lights as she went. Decorative sconces and warm lighting illuminated her life's work. Paintings of all types lined the walls and shelves. She deposited her recent piece behind the counter also, saving it for Christmastime, since nobody really wanted to think about winter during June. She eyed her paintings as she grabbed a book of matches and began lighting the candle wicks. Finally, she turned the antique open sign, feeling a heaviness lift from her chest as she felt her life begin again.

She turned on the coffee maker, which she offered to anyone who stopped by her shop for a look. It was nice to feel that she'd returned to normality for awhile, that she wasn't defined by the boy who left her behind, that she was simply Clary the artist. She drummed her fingers along the countertop, hearing the bell jingle as her first customer in six months entered the shop. It was a woman with auburn waves. She was tall, lean, a figure often describe as willowy. Her thin shirt flowed elegantly over her figure, covering most of the paint splatters on her jeans. Their eyes met, mirror images of each other's, green against green, tears stinging the edges.

"Mom," Clary whispered, completely enveloped in a tight hug. They were laughing, but Clary could feel the sadness flowing from her mother. Clary had ignored her. She hadn't returned calls or answered knocks on the door. She'd completely detached herself from everyone, her mother included.

"Oh, Clary," Jocelyn said, stroking her daughter's hair lightly, as if she believed it was all a dream.

"I'm sorry I didn't call—" Jocelyn shushed her quietly.

"Let's not focus on that, Clary. I'm just so glad to have you back." Clary smiled.

"Glad to be back." She pulled back from her mother's embrace, and Jocelyn began wandering about the store, appraising Clary's work, stopping every so often to get a closer look at a piece. The bell rang again as a stranger entered. "Good morning," Clary greeted, watching her shop begin to fill with curious walkers and loyal customers. Soon, she was packaging paintings to be taken home, ordering frames for custom orders, restocking shelves with the extra paintings she kept in the back. Her mother stood beside the customers, proudly talking about her daughter's pieces with whoever would listen. Clary's heart fluttered in her chest. It had been still for so long that she'd nearly forgotten it was in there. She never really realized how much she missed the people of New York, how dearly she'd treasured her time spent at the shop.

All too soon, the sun was almost below the horizon, and it was time to close. She finished helping the last of the stragglers as Jocelyn blew out the candles. "What do you say we get some dinner?" she asked as Clary locked the door to the shop. Clary nodded and arm-in-arm they crossed the street to the local pizzeria, ordering the largest supreme on the menu.

"Sweetie," Jocelyn said over a steaming slice of cheesy goodness, "I really missed you." Clary smiled, willing away the tears of guilt threatening to spill over.

"I really missed you, too." They spent the night joking about nothing and eating way too much pizza. Jocelyn rose to pay the bill. It was $20.01 . Jocelyn pulled out a twenty dollar bill and went to search for a one. "Wait," Clary said digging in her pockets, "I think I have a penny." She pulled out that slip of paper along with a small, copper coin. She handed it to her mother as she opened the delicate folds of the paper. The words scrawled hastily on the paper were enough to bring her hand to her chest and a gasp to her lips.

_Just remember, Clare-bear. I can always get to you, whether you want me to or not._

_Much Love,_

_Sebastian_

The bruises along her body flared up. How did she not remember this?

* * *

_...*gets on knees and begs* Review?_


End file.
